


Joy

by Lothiriel84



Series: These words are all we have (We'll be talking) [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Aromantic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: Oh joy, when you call meI was giving up, oh, I was giving in
Relationships: Arthur Shappey/Tiffy
Series: These words are all we have (We'll be talking) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546090
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/gifts).

He knows something isn’t right from the way Tiffy doesn’t quite meet his gaze when she steps aside to let him in, but if there’s one thing he’s learned it’s that he shouldn’t push her – whatever it is that’s bothering her, she won’t tell him until she’s ready, and not a moment before.

“Kettle’s just boiled, if you want some,” she offers, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen. Arthur nods, his smile just this side of forced, and wanders off to fix himself a cup.

When he steps back into the living room Tiffy is curled in her favourite armchair, knees up to her chest, cradling her mug of tea as if it’s somehow holding the meaning of life in there. He runs over the List in his head one more time, and eventually decides to forgo physical contact altogether, at least for the time being; doesn’t matter that he’s aching to gather her in his arms, this isn’t about him, it’s her comfort that is paramount right now.

If he were a smarter man – like Douglas is, and Herc, too – he would know what to say to make everything better; as it is, he hesitates to speak, fearing he will only make it worse, even more so as he still hasn’t got a clue what the problem is. So he stares into his mug and waits it out, wondering if he should have called beforehand rather than just showing up on her doorstep, even though she always says it’s fine, and he’s welcome to barge into her flat whenever he pleases.

He’s about to open his mouth to ask her if she’d rather he came back some other time, when she uncurls a little, sighs, and extends one hand for him to take. He places his mug onto the coffee table, pushing it slightly out of reach so that he won’t risk knocking it over later, and carefully interlocks their little fingers.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk,” he tells her, reassuringly. “I don’t mind.”

She sniffles, just a little, and squeezes his finger. “Oh, Arthur,” she says, as if she’s on the verge of tears, and that’s okay too, so long as she doesn’t feel like she has to hold back on his account.

“Crying is also fine,” he points out, encouraging smile firmly back in place. “I won’t try and hug you, I promise.”

That seems to really do it for her, for she chokes on a sob and slumps back into herself. She doesn’t spill her tea, but it’s a near thing, and Arthur decides he’d better take matters into his own hands – by which he means plucking the mug from her trembling fingers, making sure he doesn’t risk any unnecessary contact, as the last thing he wants is to push her further over the edge.

He’s not quite prepared for the way Tiffy latches onto his wrist, as if she’s half drowning and he’s somehow turned into her lifeline, but he’s not about to complain. He places the mug next to his own on the coffee table, and turns his full attention to her.

“Whatever you need,” he says, simply, and then she’s tugging him down towards her, and the armchair is nowhere near big enough for the two of them, but they’ll make do, somehow. He scrambles for purchase, balancing his weight on his arms so as not to crush her, and lets her wrap her arms around his waist, even as she buries her face into his vest – and he forgot to change out of his uniform, again, but he does have a spare at home, so it doesn’t matter.

And he doesn’t mind her tears soaking all the way through his shirt, he honestly doesn’t, but his arms are starting to cramp a little, and she can’t be comfortable either, half crushed as she is under his weight. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he tries, still unsure about the rules here, what he’s allowed, and what he’s not. “But I don’t think my wrists will hold out much longer.”

She actually chuckles at that – a small, wet sound, but it’s like music to Arthur’s ears. “I’m such a mess,” she hiccups, allowing him to push himself off the armchair. “I don’t know what came over me.”

It’s a lie, he can tell as much, but he figures that she needs a bit more time, and he’s more than willing to give it to her. “It’s okay,” he tells her, holds out his hand. “I just thought we’d be more comfortable on the sofa, that’s all.”

She takes his hand, follows his lead as he guides her around the coffee table; and the sofa is indeed much better, even if he doesn’t quite know how close to her he should be sitting, because it’s one of the things he’s supposed to ask, but he doesn’t dare to, not with this brittle thing hanging in the air between them. Doesn’t need to, in the end, because she shifts closer, until she’s pressed against his side, his hand cradled between hers in her lap.

“Mum called today,” she mutters after a while, her voice smaller than he ever remembers it. He turns his hand, palm upwards, lets her play with his fingers. “She says I’m a horrible person, and I should stop leading you on.”

He blinks, once, twice, stares back at her in utter confusion. “You’re not – what does that even mean?”

Tiffy gives him a pained look, and lets go of his hand; he thinks he should maybe pull it back, only he doesn’t, waits for her to speak instead.

“What are we doing here, Arthur?” she asks at length, and he furrows his brow, even more perplexed than a moment before.

“Sitting on the sofa, waiting for you to feel like telling me what’s wrong?”

She chuckles, only it sounds a tiny bit broken, now. “I meant, you and I. Being together.”

“Oh. Okay,” he pauses, considering. “Just the normal kind of things couples do? Unless – is this because of something I’ve done? We could always revise our list, if you feel like we need to – you know how I don’t always remember things, but it’s okay, I’ve got it saved on my phone, too.”

That must have been the wrong thing to say, he can see there are tears in her eyes, again. Stupid, stupid Arthur. He bites his lip, quite at a loss as to how he’s supposed to handle this.

“Or, I could go and be somewhere else, if that would help,” he offers, and then she’s sobbing into his shirt once more, and he swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Tiffy?”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles, burrows even closer, somehow. “You shouldn’t have to go through all this on my account.”

“I know I’m being a clot, but I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

She doesn’t flinch when he runs his thumb across the back of her hand, before he remembers, and he immediately makes to apologise; she doesn’t let him, pulls back just enough so she can look him in the eye.

“This is precisely what I meant, Arthur. Don’t you ever wish you had a – a proper girlfriend? Someone who can love you back the way you deserve – no stupid lists or anything, just the two of you, happy, together?”

“But we are,” he blurts out, incredulously. “Happy, that is. Or, well, I am – I can’t speak for you, obviously, but I trust you would tell me, if you weren’t – wouldn’t you?”

Next thing he knows, she’s in her lap, and it takes him a moment to register that she’s kissing him – they never do, and as brilliant as kissing is, he still doesn’t mind – and it’s not that he doesn’t want to, but again, this isn’t about him, and he won’t let her do this, not when he knows how uncomfortable the whole experience is for her.

He pushes at her shoulders, as gently as he knows how, until she meets his gaze, her expression one of hurt and relief in equal parts. “Tiffy, I’m being serious. The list is as much for me as it is for you. I don’t care what your Mum says, or anyone else for that matter – I don’t want anything from you that you’re not comfortable with. And if you ever decide that you want to go back to just being friends, that’s also fine by me. I may not be as clever as most people, but I think I can decide for myself what I want, or need, and what I don’t, not really.”

“Arthur,” she says, and she’s not quite smiling, but he can still hear it in her voice. “You know what you are?”

“A clot?” he supplies, helpfully, even as he guides her to sit more comfortably across his lap. He knows she won’t allow this most days, and he’s perfectly fine with that, but for now, he just lets her.

“You are the most brilliant human being I’ve ever had the fortune of meeting,” she declares with conviction, and slides her arms around his neck.


End file.
